


Thunderwave

by Kikithehousemoose



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Apparently I have a Thing for those, Battle Scenes, Beauregard (Critical Role) - Freeform, Character Study, Jester (Critical Role) - Freeform, Multi, Storms, The Stormlord (Critical Role) - Freeform, i guess?, the second chapter has monster fighting and monster mutilation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-06 03:34:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14633232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kikithehousemoose/pseuds/Kikithehousemoose
Summary: It's a night like any other. Yasha reflects on a storm.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I should just stop acting like I write actual fics anymore cause apparently I have a god-given speciality for character studies. I didn't even know I had a writing muse for Yasha but here you go.

When rain began to roll in from over the hills, most people in the town retreated indoors. There were things more precious to them than water, items that were tucked away in drawers or too many layers of fabric wrapping. Some of them hid themselves away like that, buried underneath their blankets beside of their pets or loved ones, terrified by each crack of lightning or torrent against the side of their house. To most people, rain was a reminder of how nature could triumph, turning their day on its head in an instant. Storms made most people feel powerless.

 

There was no other time when Yasha felt as strong.

 

Waves of rain were pouring down above the roof of their inn, drumming through the drainage pipes alongside the windowsill where she sat, watching. Storms like this were the only time Yasha felt like she could breathe, satisfaction filling her with a rush like she had been suffocating. Even with the sometimes oppressive humidity, Yasha felt grounded, connected to the earth as much as any dryad or genasi. Rolling sounds of thunder sent shivers of anticipation down her spine, each hair on her body rising to get closer to the sky, seeking the tingle of lightning overhead. No matter where she was, the storms would follow. They completed her. She was not just a woman standing in the rain: Yasha was a part of the storm, a force of nature taking her rightful place beside the wind and the rain. 

 

Thunder shook the inn, directly overhead of them, having been inching ever closer for the past few hours. Yasha stares silently at the sky, listening. Anyone else would only hear the sounds of the weather, but not her. She heard the voices that came with the storm, so ancient and powerful, speaking through each gust of wind against the pane, each rise of mist that threatened to fog the glass. His voice was clear to her, a deep rumble connecting to her core, a murmur in the back of her mind that she could not help but listen to. He was there in the storm, telling her so much yet so little. She was never given reason for her instructions, but always felt as though she knew everything she needed to. There was no meaning needed beyond the call of the storm. She felt the pull now as she looked out, as strong as ever. Thoughts of leaving filled her mind, her spirit already walking out into the storm before her, following its path to the task that had been given to her. Her hand flexed on her knee, growing restless. She wanted nothing more.

 

There’s a groan as someone shifts behind her. Jester, by the sounds of it, always restless even in her deepest slumber. They all grow suspicious of her; she knows this. But she cannot even begin to explain it to them. She has never been one for eloquent words, having learned to speak only through her actions. Even if she was anything like a poet, she would never truly be able to relate to them what the call of the storm meant to her. Fjord and Jester would be empathetic, having their own ties to gods, but their experiences are still far too different for them to really understand. There’s a part of Yasha that hates to leave; she’s getting attached. She always gets attached. First it was only to Mollymauk, but now there were others she would miss if she were gone for too long. More than Molly, even. She tears her eyes away from the storm for just a moment to gaze upon the sleeping form of the two other women, Beau half flung over the edge of the bed, Jester curled around her journal. Looking at them brought a whole other kind of satisfaction. It was new to her; unfamiliar. She did not know what to make of it. The storm did not bring the same comfort, but it was comforting. She knew what to do when she had someone telling her, when she still felt powerful. It was a sense of security that she sorely needed. 

The call was too strong to ignore. Yasha carefully removed herself from the windowsill, her few belongings already gathered in a sack. They would be hurt, but they would forgive her. She would return in time. Just as the storms moved through, so did she, and just as such would she arrive again. 

 

Most of the time, she left without saying goodbye. There was no need for goodbyes. But tonight there was a different sort of pull, some strange sentimental tingling in her gut. Before she could think more about it, she stepped over to the two girls, kissing them both on the head the same way Molly tended to do. They both stirred slightly at the contact, but did not emerge from sleep, murmuring some instinctual goodbye. She did not smile, but her heart did. Stepping away, she grabbed her sword and sack, leaving the tavern without another look back. 

 

The sky cleared up the next day. Yasha was gone. 


	2. Thunderous Smite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the heat of battle, Yasha gets a much-needed boost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos to Ali, who inspired me to immediately add to this fic just by bringing it up. You're helping to give the gays everything they want: buff lesbians kicking ass in thunderstorms.

They were six rounds into fighting an owlbear. They were  _ losing.  _ Bad.

 

It hadn’t helped that they went into the fight already a bit low on health and spells, and apparently today was the day to miss every attack made. Caleb was down, a long claw mark bleeding down the front of his body. Jester was down, limp against the base of the tree she had been thrown against. Molly and Beau were on their last legs, and Fjord was trying to Eldritch Blast it as much as he could from a distance. The owlbear currently had Nott in its grip, having scooped her up after a successful hit from her crossbow. 

 

Beau ran at the creature with her bo staff, hitting it in the neck with a flurry of blows, trying to make it let go of Nott. Mollymauk taunts it in Infernal, acting as another distraction, but it doesn’t seem to care. It turns its head to Beau with a cry and shoots out with its beak, grabbing the end of the staff that had dealt it damage. It was looking hurt, but still had enough strength to pull against Beau. 

 

The monk dug her feet into the ground, grunting as she plays tug-of-war with the beast. “Fuck. Fuck fuck shit shit shit shit shit.” She changes her position, trying to pull it from a different angle, only to be flung back a moment later with a terrible crunching sound. She looks up in horror to see the owlbear spitting out the broken end of her bo staff. “That goddamn thing ate my stick!”

 

Yasha wasn’t really listening to that. There was something else that had caught her attention, even in the heat of battle.

 

Hairs on the back of her neck raised to greet the static that had charged itself in the air over the course of the battle. The humidity had been hanging over the whole area all day, uncomfortably muggy, but  _ finally  _ it was going to pay off. The static had been teasing her for the past few minutes, but it was worth it. This timing  _ amused  _ her; she felt like laughing as a deep rumble echoed overhead, the first drops of rain beginning to come down on them. Her heart picked up at the feeling, droplets on her skin revitalizing her more than any potion could. Yasha grips her sword even tighter, a smirk playing on her face in spite of the current situation. As the storm arrived in earnest, adrenaline pumped through her body. Lightning cracked a tree just behind her, her eyes glistening with a dangerous shine at the same time.

 

_ I would like to Rage.  _

 

Letting out a bellowing war cry, she rushes the creature, running past Fjord and Molly, straight up to it. The creature turns its head to snap at her, but not quickly enough. Yasha swings, a loud  _ CRACK  _ echoing through the clearing as it connects with the owlbear’s beak. It lets out a cry, but Yasha isn’t done. 

 

Grabbing a handful of fur, she pulls herself up onto its back. Enraged, it drops Nott, who scampers away. Its arms rise up to try to claw at her, but it has no chance. Yelling again, she swings down with all her might, another bolt of lightning striking nearby just as her blade makes contact. 

 

With an indescribable scream of agony, the creature drops, going unconscious as its beak falls off of its face, shattered by the impact of Yasha’s sword. Impressed hollers rise up from her remaining teammates as she cuts off the creatures head for good measure, having no issue since she was so close. She rides the body the rest of the way down, landing gracefully on the wet grass, panting from the rush. 

 

Molly waltzes over to clap her on the back, breathless himself. He laughs, shaking her slightly. “Now that’s how you do it!”

 

Yasha gives him a faint smile, her eyes moving over to Beau, who looks awestruck. A blush rises to her cheeks under the gaze. Yasha goes over to her and offers her a hand to help her up. “..I’m sorry about your staff.”

 

“Huh?” Beau blinks, looking down at her broken weapon. “Oh. Well, fuck it. I can just get a new one, somewhere. Probably. It’s just a stick. Probably gave that damn thing splinters or something.”

 

She smiles at that, too. “I’m sure. Are you feeling alright?”

 

Grunting, Beau stretches, wincing as she rolls her arm but waving the barbarian off. “I’m fine, I’ll be fine. Just gonna be bruised all to hell tomorrow. We need to get Jester and Caleb first. Are you okay? I mean, obviously, that was really fucking awesome, but…”

 

Yasha makes a very un-Yasha face. She grins. Her eyes go up to the sky, the rain still steadily coming down on them, soaking her. She could almost feel the approving gaze of the Stormlord. Yasha nods. “Yeah. I’ve never been better.”

**Author's Note:**

> Descriptions are based off of my own religious experiences! I worship The Goddess, who grants me power and wisdom through rain and storms. If you're here to make any rude comments about that fact then just don't even start: I know. It was just nice to be able to write about a character who has a similar connection.


End file.
